


Draw

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26620033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Tom and Harry spar.
Relationships: Harry Kim/Tom Paris
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Draw

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

“Wait.”

Harry freezes mid-lunge, falling back onto the balls of his feet, still poised and ready to go in for the kill—except that he looks exactly as exhausted as Tom feels, like a strong wind could knock him over at any second. There is no wind on the holodeck. They’ve simulated a Terran field, simple but effective, the damp grass beneath them plenty soft enough to land on. Tom’s taken more than his fair share of tumbles, and if it weren’t for that padding, Harry would be covered in bruises. Tom would like to think that he’s gone easy, that he’s deliberately held back from hurting Harry in any way, but the reality is that they’re fairly evenly matched and they’ve been at a stalemate for however many hours it’s been. 

It’s probably only been one. If that. Which is no good, because B’Elanna could go for _days_ , and the whole point of this extra training was to reach her level. Tom wants to beat her _just once._ Harry probably does too. But that’s not going to happen unless they _seriously_ step their game up. 

Harry’s face twitches like he wants to smile, but he’s too tired to remember how. He teases, halting through ragged breath, “You giving up, Paris?” The mere suggestion makes Tom want to throw another punch.

That’s not it at all. Sure, he’s about ready to pass out, panting so hard he can barely hear Harry’s laboured breath over his own pulse pounding in his ears, but Tom Paris doesn’t _give up._ It’s more that every time Harry struggles for air, his taut chest strains against the thin tank-top practically glued to his golden skin. It’s soaked through with sweat, glistening like the rest of him—the fake sunlight has him lit up like he’s been dipped in glitter for an old fashioned Terran night club. His normally neat hair is a tangled mess, slicked across his forehead, his plush lips permanently parted. It doesn’t help that they both changed into shorts. They did a run for a warm-up, where every step made Harry’s shorts ride a little higher, until both creamy thighs were exposed almost all the way up, and Tom’s turned on enough to easily imagine the rest. He didn’t used to be a leg-man, but he is now. 

“Tom?”

The question pierces through his fogged-over brain. Tom swallows around his dry throat and mutters, “That’s not why I stopped.”

Harry snorts. Tom’s sure he looks a wreck, but if he was sparring against B’Elanna, he would’ve kept going on hands and knees if he had to. 

Against Harry, he’s got a very different appendage to worry about. He takes a wobbling step forward, and Harry braces himself as though Tom’s going to throw a suck-punch. Tom does reach out, but only to clamp his fist in Harry’s black hair. 

He pulls Harry forward and smashes their mouths together, too hot to kiss with any grace. He’s _boiling_ hot. And Harry’s firm body is a full furnace against him, but Tom grinds into it anyway, because Harry only gets hotter with ever passing day. 

The kiss is still, sloppy, a bit wet but not too deep—Tom doesn’t have the wherewithal for proper skill at the moment. He enjoys himself anyway. He only pulls back when he needs the air. Harry’s cute cheeks were already flushed, but they’ve found a way to turn redder. He mumbles, “I don’t have the energy for that.”

Tom smirks. “Then that means I win.”

Harry rolls his eyes. Tom mutters, “End program,” so he can herd Harry back against the holodeck’s nearest wall and have something to brace against for their next smoldering kiss.


End file.
